Sand in the Wind (23 page)

“I started going with a different girl that I got to like and forgot about the other one. This girl’s best friend also dated Scott — a real good-looking bitch — and we used to double a lot. He was banging the shit out of her. Wasn’t the type to shoot off his mouth, but it was pretty obvious. We used to use his car, and when his parents were out we used to take them over to his house. You wouldn’t believe that place, a fucking castle.” Forsythe paused, debating whether to continue, knowing that he would. Chalice remained silent, still too surprised by Forsythe’s tone to do anything but listen.

“We got to be good friends, not real close, but he wasn’t close with anyone. I’d always thought he was conceited, but I got to realize he was just the quiet type, like he was depressed about not being able to have something he really wanted. When we doubled, I never had anything to worry about — he always knew where to go or what to say. He really impressed me; had real class — not the kind you learn, he had that too, but the kind you’re born with.

“One day after school he had to pick up something for his father and I went with him. We passed this gun shop and he stopped and looked in the window. He pointed to an ivory-handled automatic with a blued finish like a mirror, and he said he’d like to buy it. I was kind of surprised because his father had a whole case full of guns and he told me he didn’t like them around the house.

“We went back to his place and fucked around in his room. There was an old picture of him and his younger brother on the desk. He started talking about him. I knew he was dead, but I didn’t know the whole story. He was two years younger than Scott. It turns out that when Scott was ten years old his brother got kidnapped — said it seemed like a game, exciting, like in the movies where the cops always make the rescue at the last minute. Found him in a ditch a few days later. At the funeral everyone was crying and he cried too, even though he really didn’t understand what was going on. When they walked by the casket his brother looked like he was just sleeping. Scott tried to talk to him and when his brother didn’t answer he reached out to touch him, but his mother grabbed his arm. Said he couldn’t get used to the idea his brother was dead. For a year after it happened anytime the doorbell would ring he’d run to open the door to see if his brother had come home.

“I don’t think he’d ever told anyone else the whole story. He seemed changed afterwards — more relaxed, a lot happier. From that time on we were real close. We fucked around a lot more — always putting each other on. One day he came over to my house all wild-eyed, I forget about what; but after he told me, I said ‘So what?’ just as a joke. At first he thought I was serious, but when he realized I was kidding he dug it. From then on, anytime either one of us said something, the other’d say ‘So what?’ — joking around, kinda like a ritual — sorta identifying with each other.

“About two weeks before the end of school he drove over to my house so we could polish his car; we were going to double for the prom. You know how it is just before graduation. I never could figure out what the big deal was until I went through it. Everybody was real excited; kinda happy and sad at the same time. We were going to room together at Duke. He could have gone to some Ivy League school if he wanted. I guess I was the reason he decided on Duke. When we finished polishing his car, I went to put what was left of the polish in his glove compartment. I couldn’t get it in because there was a package in there about the size of a book. I took it out and asked him what it was. Just as I finished it hit me, I don’t know how I knew, but I knew. He said it was nothing, just a present, and started the car — there was sort of a smile on his face, like he knew I knew, like he put it in the glove compartment knowing, for some reason (like putting the polish away instead of just flipping it on the seat) that I’d find it and know, not for any reason, just so I’d know, me and him would know, as if it was important, not making any real difference, just making it right. I asked him to come in the house, knowing he wouldn’t, because it was settled, settled the first time I ever met him, like we were just going through the motions, for no reason but that we had to, to make it right, and I was nervous, he was calm, you know sometimes when you’re nervous and you see everybody else is nervous, then you don’t feel nervous anymore, me being nervous made things easier, made them right. I asked him again, knowing he wouldn’t. He said he’d come over after supper, and I believed him, I wanted to, because he was dependable, if he said he’d do something he’d do it, but at the same time I knew he was lying, not really lying, because you can’t lie with just words, because if you say something you know the other person doesn’t believe, then you’re not really saying it. Do you understand?”

Chalice nodded his head, knowing that he really wasn’t sure what he understood, but that he understood it, and that it was important to Forsythe that he did. Forsythe continued to stare at him, and Chalice knew he should say something. All he could think of were comments like “You never can tell” or “That’s a bust,” so he just shook his head.

A light spray of rain began to fall. Forsythe flipped away the twig in his hand and took cover under a nearby tree. The rain became heavier. He was facing the mountains, watching the slow quiet drizzle envelop them. He hunched his shoulders so the droplets flowing down the back of his helmet couldn’t drip inside of his shirt. A penetrating chill seeped through his limbs. He folded his arms tightly in front of his chest. A somber stare  on his face, he scanned the rice paddies, not seeing anything but the thoughts in his mind, oblivious to the rain.

Scott had graduated first in the class and was supposed to have given the valedictory. The English teacher who had been helping Scott suggested that Forsythe, who had graduated third, give Scott’s speech. Forsythe refused, but the teacher persisted until he finally agreed. As he looked over Scott’s speech his stomach tightened with anger and disgust. Eyes darting back and locking on phrases such as “make the world a better place,” he pictured Scott saying and being sickened by them; the phoniness, the sad phoniness of the whole idea gripped his throat as if it were going to choke him.

During the commencement, all Forsythe could think about was the time Scott had told him about his brother, and the way his parents had looked at the funeral. His dulled senses barely caught the sound of his own name when he was introduced. By the time he got to the podium he was in a daze. Staring at the audience, he noticed tears in the eyes of some of the mothers and the somber expressions on the faces of those fathers that weren’t half asleep — all of them watching this different kind of funeral. He just stood there looking out at them, unable to remember what or why — not embarrassed, just not caring; feeling sorry for all those parents. He tried to concentrate, knowing he better say something fast or get the hell out of there.

“I’m supposed to give a speech. I had one memorized, but I can’t remember it now.” He paused, and there were a few chuckles; but the tone he proceeded with cut them short. “It was one of those about helping mankind and making this world a better place. You’ve heard it all before. I don’t believe a word of it. Since I’m up here already, I might as well give some sort of speech, and I might as well say something I
do
believe.”

“This world was a
fucked-up
place on the day I was born, and if I live to be a hundred years old, it’ll be
just as fucked up
on the day I die.” Even the fathers — some just awakened — sat up and stared at him in disbelief. The room filled with murmurs; but as he began again, his words quickly silenced them. “I was going to tell you you now had an opportunity to change the world, and all that other bullshit. That’s the same thing they probably told your parents. The same thing they’ve been saying ever since the first idiot put on these ridiculous hats and ten pound nightgowns. They keep saying it and nothing changes. Sure you can change the kind of car you drive, the food you eat, the houses you live in; but how important is that shit? You
can’t change life.
Everybody gets a ticket, and all the trips are different, but every one of them ends up in the same place and all the important stops are the same.”

“Two weeks ago my best friend blew his own brains out — the whole Richard Cory bit. All any of you could say was ‘Why?’ That’s a good question — the best question. Anytime anything happens you can always ask ‘Why?’ I’ll bet
he
asked the same question just before he pulled the trigger: ‘Why, why the hell doesn’t everybody else do the same fucking thing I’m doing?’ I doubt he had an answer, and I don’t either. But I’ll tell you one thing, I’m gonna stick around for a while to try and find one.

“The first thing I’m gonna do is forget about all those phony answers we’ve been getting ever since we were kids. Most of us are stuffed so full of bullshit we’re gagging on it. When we were little kids there was one phrase we used to hear all the fucking time, ‘
They lived happily ever after.
’ Every fucked-up story they ever told us ended with the words, ‘They lived happily ever after.’ I’m seventeen years old and I still haven’t met one fucking person who’s lived happily ever after. They give us all kinds of rules to live by. Take a look around you. Those rules didn’t work for them and they won’t work for you. I’ve got a rule for you. It may not be a good one, but it’s no worse than any of the others you’ve been given: ‘If you feel like doing something, do it.’ I’m not telling you to go around killing people. You can’t go around doing everything you want, but there’s a lot of things you can do. If your old man wants you to take over the insurance business, but you want to live in the woods like a bum, live in the woods. If you’re a fag and you gotta suck somebody’s cock, go ’head and suck it. I could really give a shit, as long as it’s not mine. If you’re a girl that likes some guy, go ahead and sleep with him. I’m not telling you to go out and be the high school punchboard, but that wouldn’t bother me either. In fact I’d probably be the first in line. If your old man catches you smoking grass and he tries to hit you over the head with his whiskey bottle, you don’t have to take that shit. Sure there’s a lot of people you don’t want to hurt — I’m not telling you to forget that — but don’t forget something else either — it’s
your
goddamn life.”

Forsythe’s mind went blank. He sensed the immaturity, not in what he had said, but in how he had said it. He wanted to say something intelligent, to explain himself, what he was doing, to the shocked and hostile faces staring at him. Grasping for ideas, he found only memories. Fragmented, swirling through his thoughts, they further confused him. Wondering if he were crying, he perceived an idea without any means of expressing it, heard himself say, “I just
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
I just don’t want to spend my life thinking about things I never got to do, thinking about how I
should have
done it.”

Kovacs walked around to the positions and told the men to get ready to move out. The rain had stopped, but water still dripped from the leaves  and a fresh, clean scent pervaded the air. The platoon moved out in two columns, trudging back in the direction of the camp. As soon as they reached it, the men took off their wet clothes and hung them on the tops of their hootches. Most of them were naked and either walking around the area or lying on their ponchos when word was passed that the lieutenant wanted a formation. Forsythe started to walk towards it in the nude, but Harmon told him to get some trousers on. As they straggled over, they found Kramer waiting for them.

“This won’t take long. We’re going on a company-size operation up Charlie Ridge. We’ll pull out at three o’clock and get as high as we can by dawn, then sweep across and come down by tomorrow evening. You can leave your hootches up. We won’t be taking packs. Bring enough C-rats and water. That’s it.”

6.
Charlie
Ridge

No ambushes were sent out that night. The watches ran from nine o’clock until three and were cut to an hour and a half each. Tony 5 took the last watch in his fire team and woke everybody up at a quarter to three. As they moved out in the direction of Ladybird Park, the night air was damp and chilly; but after only a few minutes of marching their shivering bodies warmed and started to perspire. The men had carefully adjusted their equipment so as to keep it from rattling, and there was no talking along the columns. The only sounds were the soft, steady scrapings of boots along the dirt road.

A third-quarter moon made it possible for Chalice to see the silhouettes of the first three men in front of him. When the ammo can strap started digging into his shoulder, he switched it to his other arm. He tried to do so quietly, but as he swung the can in front of him it struck his rifle with a sharp crack. Childs, who was in the column to Chalice’s left, turned his head sharply but didn’t say anything.

They had marched for what seemed like a short time when both columns came to a halt. Tony 5 walked around to each of his men to tell them they were at the park, that two of the other platoons had already started moving out, and that Second Platoon would go last. A few minutes later they peeled off the right side of the road and meshed into one column.

The ville bordering the road extended back almost a hundred yards. More from curiosity than fear, Chalice scanned the hootches for signs of life. His head turned to one side, he was startled by the snort of a water buffalo penned a few feet away on his other side. He wasn’t the only one startled, and a low hum of muffled laughter came from the men around him.

The pace quickened as they reached a path on the other side of the ville. It took them across a few hundred yards of rice paddies and ended at a small stream. They crossed it on a plank less than six inches wide and a few feet below the surface of the water. Chalice thought the stream was shallow and that the men in front of him were walking through it. When he placed his foot in the water he barely got it on the board and nearly lost his balance. He felt a little stupid until he reached the other side and heard the splash of someone behind him falling in.